


Chilled Promises

by silverthecat



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: An idea I had at 3am that I HAD to write, Cold, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, No beta we die like Fundy's respect for Wilbur as a father, Other, Promises Made and eventually broken, Short One Shot, These two being a small family gives me so much life, Wilbur's trying his best, a bit of angst at the end, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverthecat/pseuds/silverthecat
Summary: When Sally left, the world grew colder. Fundy might've been young, but he could sense his father's change. They had few moments of warmth, moments where everything seemed normal again. One special night by the fire was, by far, the warmest moment the two ever had.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Chilled Promises

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize if anything seems OOC or off. I had this idea at like, 3AM, wrote most of this in a caffeine-fueled blur. But with all the angst going on in the server with the exile arc and egg, some good old fluff with my favorite father and son duo seemed appropriate. Enjoy!

It was cold when Fundy’s mother first left. He couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 when he first heard his parents talking in hushed whispers, when he heard them quietly arguing and using words they would’ve dared not to say when he was right there with them. He couldn’t have been more than 3 when he heard the front door open, when he rushed downstairs only to find his father sitting by the fire, completely alone and tears silently streaming down his face. He could remember the chill in the air so vividly, especially since the door had been left wide open and someone had forgotten to clean up the little puddles of water.

That had to have been a year ago at best. His father never spoke about the day his past love left. But, in response, Fundy couldn’t help but feel like he’d withdrawn into himself. What was once a lively, cheerful home became dry and silent, sucked of whatever warmth had originally lived there. Fundy had to watch as his father became more withdrawn, more hesitant to even look at him without seeing his mother in his eyes, more keen to spend late nights...doing whatever it was he did to ensure they kept living. And on the few nights he did come home early, Fundy could see how exhausted and simply sad his father still looked.

The cold hadn’t left them since that day. But even amidst the chill, there were still always small spots of warmth. Sometimes, during nights when Fundy couldn’t sleep, he’d sit outside on the small porch, wrapped up in his favorite blanket, and he’d wait for his father to come home. It was lonely, but sometimes he found it comforting. And, without fail, Fundy would always fall asleep before anybody came back. The next morning, he’d find himself back in bed, tucked in lovingly.

Sometimes, when his father would come home early, he’d tell Fundy bedtime stories. Stories of places he’d been to and the things he’d seen, the battles he’d fought alongside his brother and father. Sometimes, they’d be of incredible new discoveries. And, if his father wasn’t too tired, he’d even pull out his guitar and strum a few chords. Those nights were Fundy’s favorites, as for a moment, it almost felt as if everything was normal.  
  
But his favorite warm spot? That had to have been the warmest one of them all.  
  
His father hadn’t yet come home from work and Fundy couldn’t sleep, as usual. But this time, he was determined to welcome his father home properly. It was in the middle of winter, so he brought a blanket and candle out with him. He’d be just fine thanks to his thick fur, but his father would be freezing, especially in such cold weather.  
  
He firmly planted himself on the porch step and sat upright, eyes bright and alert for any sign of movement in the gloom. Tonight is the night, he kept telling himself as the hours slowly passed, He must be really cold. He’ll be super happy that I thought of the blanket! The very thought of seeing his father smile again made him tremble. Or was that from the cold? It was much colder than he was expecting.  
  
About an hour and half into his vigil, something cold and wet dripped down onto his nose. Fundy sneezed, shaking his head wildly before glancing up. Fat, white snowflakes had begun falling. He’d been out with the nice lady (Her name was Niki, right?) a few times in the winter before, seeing first hand how clogged up the roads could get when snow fell. A small seed of worry burrowed itself in his chest as more flakes drifted down. His father would be able to make it back before things got that bad, right?  
  
After he was fairly sure he passed the 2 hour mark, that worry only grew larger.  
  
3 hours in. The snow had begun coming down faster than before. He was shivering terribly, having wrapped the blanket meant for his father around himself. Maybe his father had gotten lost on his way back. Had that been what happened to his mother? Did that mean…?

…  
  
...One moment, he swore he was fighting back thoughts of his father leaving as well. The next, he was curled up under his own tail, still shivering violently. Had he fallen asleep again? But that was the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do!  
  
Fundy stretched and stiffly sat up, his limbs feeling completely frozen, only to be met with an odd sight. He was still on the porch, surrounded by piles of white snow. There had even been a small pile resting on his back before he had moved. Had his father not come home yet?  
  
The house was still silent and the windows dark. Nobody was inside. Fundy stood, ready to stumble back into the house just to check for himself when -  
  
_Crunch_  
  
His ears perked up at the noise. He spun around, just to see the foggy outline of someone approaching. He watched, as still as a statue, until he recognized the tall figure. An excited yip escaped him and, without thinking, his paws carried him right down into the snow. It stung and bits of snow clung to his fur.  
  
But that didn’t matter. His dad was finally back.  
  
“Dad, dad! Y-Y-You’re b-back!” His father paused, confused at first. Then, his expression morphed into one of surprise, especially as Fundy jumped and clung onto the front of his cloak. “I-I stayed up all-all night, l-like a big kid. And now, y-you’re back!”  
  
“Fundy. Fundy…” His father, Wilbur, shifted his bag on his shoulder, bending down to pick up the fox cub only to wince. “Fundy, oh my God, you’re ice-cold! Have you been out here all night?!” He sounded worried, but Fundy didn’t get why. In fact, he felt proud of himself. He even nodded with a big grin plastered all over his face.  
  
...Only to sneeze a second later.  
  
Wilbur sighed, hoisting Fundy up higher on his hip before continuing to trudge through the snow to the house. It sounded like he was upset about something, but Fundy couldn’t put his finger on what. Instead, he curled up tighter against his father’s chest. He was cold as well, as expected of someone who’d been out all night, but it made him feel safe.  
  
Before even taking off his own cloak, Wilbur set Fundy back down near the fireplace. The cub watched as he knelt down, trying to start the fire once more. It was only just now hitting him that it probably hadn’t been a great idea to sit outside all night in the freezing cold. And that, maybe, that was what Wilbur seemed upset about.   
  
“...Fundy, what were you thinking?” He didn’t raise his head at the question, not wanting to meet his father’s eyes. “What do you think would’ve happened if I didn’t come home when I did? You could’ve frozen out there! Or you could’ve gotten buried! Do you understand?”  
  
Fundy mumbled something under his breath, prompting Wilbur to shift positions. Hands rested on Fundy’s shoulders, gently. His ears flattened against his head as he finally raised his gaze, only to see a soft expression of worry and concern on his father’s face.  
  
A switch of some kind flipped inside the child.  
  
He practically launched himself onto his father, clinging onto his shirt as a wail tore itself from his throat. He was crying about something, but not even he could make sense of the words. Wilbur seemed to have tensed up for a moment, his hands leaving Fundy’s shoulders for a brief moment before he wrapped his arms around his son protectively, soothingly running a hand down his back.  
  
They sat there for God knows how long, the silence only broken by Fundy’s crying. Eventually, the cries turned to sniffling and hiccuping, which then turned into soft whimpering. Wilbur’s hand moved to his head and his father’s eyes looked so sympathetic again.  
  
“...I thought you left…” Fundy finally croaked out, clinging onto his father even tighter. “...whenever you leave...and...and don’t come back until really late...I...I always think it’s because you’re g-gonna leave too….” Wilbur’s expression only grew softer and...was that a hint of guilt hiding behind it all?  
  
“Fundy...hey, hey, it’s alright.” He said. He reached a hand under his son’s chin, gently pushing his head up to meet his eyes. “I’d never leave you, alright? I promise you that.” Fundy simply looked up at him like he was a lost puppy.  
  
“P...Promise?”  
  
Wilbur smiled, running a hand over Fundy’s head again. The exhaustion that Fundy had grown so used to seeing on his father’s face seemed to vanish for just a moment. It was almost like he was looking at a snapshot of the man Wilbur was a year ago.  
  
Back before the house had become so cold. Back when Sally was still with them.  
  
“I promise. There isn’t a single thing in this world that’ll make me leave.”

* * *

That promise was made so many years ago. And even when Fundy had grown into a young man, he had never forgotten that fateful night by the fire. It always crossed his mind throughout his entire life. During the war, during the election, and even during the final battle against Schlatt. Throughout that entire time, however, he was always sure that Wilbur had never forgotten that promise either.

But after everything that had happened during the final battle, he changed his mind.  
  
A week into the reconstruction, Fundy had excused himself for a moment. He left for a solitary hill overlooking L’Manburg, covered in rubble and dotted with craters from the explosions. Tommy had mentioned before that this had to have been the same hill he and Wilbur had climbed up, watching as the walls were torn down after their exile. It only made sense then that the former founder would be buried right there, right?  
  
Well, regardless of if it really did make sense, Fundy had visited the gravesite once or twice before, a flower held loosely in his hand. Today was certainly no different. He paused a few feet away from the headstone, expression neutral as he just...stared.  
  
“...I’m back.” He eventually said, his voice heavy with suppressed emotion. “We’re still...rebuilding everything. You’re a crazy fucker for blowing it like that, y’know.” A breeze passed through, chilling him to his very bone. “I’ve been thinking a lot, lately. About..about the past, the stuff before L’Manburg, I mean.”  
  
Fundy sighed, kneeling down and laying the flower carefully. A bouquet had been left, probably from his grandfather. A portrait of his father had been left out too, clad in his revolutionary garb and a proud smile plastered across his face.  
  
“You never...you never told me about mom. And what happened.” He continued, settling down into a more comfortable sitting position. “You just...kept leaving every day. Coming back home late at night….you barely even talked to me back then...you…” He clenched his jaw, feeling tears spring up into his eyes. “...you were supposed to be my dad. We were supposed to be a family, even if mom left…”  
  
A November breeze blew through the area, cold and biting. And all too familiar.  
  
“...you promised that you wouldn’t leave either…”  
  
Fundy lowered his head, fat tears sliding through his fur. The wind grew colder.  
  
“There wasn’t supposed to be anything that would take you away...did that even include yourself?”  
  
He clenched his hands into fists. A few moments of silence passed before he finally stood once more. The fox stole one final glance at his father’s grave, as if he was expecting a response, before silently scoffing and walking off.  
  
As he turned his back, a lone figure materialized at the grave, pale and transparent. You practically had to squint just to see them. A sad smile spread across the spirit’s face, as its hand clutched at the large hole in its sweater.  
  
_“Of course I remember...how could I ever forget?”_ His father murmured, unheard over the cold wind.


End file.
